


Your Problems Are Nobody's Fault But My Own

by Aaron_The_8th_Demon



Series: Problems With No Good Answers [2]
Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Lodge dodge, M/M, Major spoilers for the end of Season 2, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:27:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21867487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaron_The_8th_Demon/pseuds/Aaron_The_8th_Demon
Summary: A month-long hospital stay for Cooper once BOB has been banished.
Relationships: Dale Cooper/Harry Truman
Series: Problems With No Good Answers [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1590280
Comments: 12
Kudos: 21





	Your Problems Are Nobody's Fault But My Own

**Author's Note:**

> A companion fic to one I wrote a few weeks ago called [Like Acting, But Sadder](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21502858/chapters/51249949#workskin). You can probably mostly understand this one without having read that one, but if you haven't read that one I'm really proud of it and it makes me happy whenever it gets seen by someone.
> 
> If you haven't read that fic, know a couple things going into this one:  
> 1\. BOB tried to kill Harry twice, so now Harry has lots of problems.  
> 2\. Once they freed Cooper from BOB, he spent about a month in the psychiatric unit of the hospital in Twin Peaks because he also has lots of problems after what happened. (I'm putting this here in case mental hospitals are a trigger for people.)

Initially, when Dale regains full consciousness, he expects to see Harry leaning over him. Harry leaned over him when he was shot. Harry leaned over him when the Lodge spit him back out for the second time. But Harry is nowhere to be seen. Instead there’s a fiberboard ceiling and an uneasy quiet surrounding him. He attempts to reach up for his face and discovers both his wrists are cuffed.

No.

Not cuffed.

Restrained.

These are padded and soft, there’s no hard steel touching his skin. Dale slowly raises himself upright but is forced to immediately lie back again when disorientation suddenly overtakes him. He recalls previously feeling dizzy in a similar manner due to blood loss following the stabbing and shooting incidents, the difference being that in this instance it makes him so instantly and intensely nauseous that he’s forced to twist himself around as much as he can so that he can vomit without subsequently choking. It gets all over him and all over the hospital bed he’s chained to, but Dale can’t call for help because his voice seems to have taken a spontaneous leave of absence. He’s forced to lie there in this state for several minutes until a nurse comes in to check on him.

A second nurse and two orderlies are brought. He’s unlocked from the bed; his legs tremble when he stands. The orderlies are watching him like carnivorous animals assessing weakened prey, which is exactly how Dale feels right now. They put him in clean patient clothes and he promptly collapses to the floor in a very undignified manner, leaning one shoulder into the wall to keep himself upright. He’s too dizzy even for that and ultimately lies down on the linoleum, watching them change his sheets with eyes that keep losing focus.

In this moment, Dale’s glad that Harry isn’t here. He doesn’t want Harry to see this, to see him this way, incapable.

Dale’s consciousness is invaded very suddenly by the recent memory of how it felt for _Mike_ to peel _Bob_ out from under his skin, a visceral and gruesome sensation of a solid object being dragged messily free of his body. The pain had been indescribable. Dale thought he was going to die, then, more than at any other moment in his life when he’d been in danger. This was very different. It was a separate threat to his life, unfamiliar. He recalls bleeding from various parts of his face.

It’s utterly and completely humiliating how these are the same psychiatric nurses who he enlisted to help look after _Mike_ in the hotel only weeks ago. Now, they’re watching him as he shudders uncontrollably and starts sobbing while he lies on the floor of this hospital room. Dale curls in on himself, a wounded and sick prey animal seeking shelter and protection. From what, he’s not entirely sure. He covers his face with his arms all the same.

Dale is so, so grateful that Harry will never see this.

After a brief moment, he realizes one of the nurses is attempting to speak with him, but his ears refuse to receive the information and he doesn’t understand what she’s saying. Instead, his sharp intuition recognizes the unease she’s feeling - this nurse is afraid of him. They’re all afraid of him.

Dale can’t blame them.

He’s afraid of him, too.

The orderlies grab Dale and he’s placed back on the hospital bed, now with fresh sheets. Thankfully, they don’t restrain him again. He’s left to himself in the room with a plastic cup of water on the side table and a thin blanket on the bed, which he pulls completely over himself so that even his head is obscured. Dale doesn’t want to be seen, not by orderlies or nurses or doctors or god. He struggles now with an intense and hideous notion of having been violated in a way he couldn’t describe even if he was able to speak. This is the first time in more than a week that his body has belonged to him again, and it feels wrong, like clothes that don’t fit and which should’ve been washed before he put them on but weren’t.

Dale lies still for awhile, making every effort not to think about anything aside from the fact that _Bob_ is no longer holding him hostage inside his own head. But thoughts of _Bob_ lead back to thoughts of Harry, of how _Bob_ almost killed Harry using Dale as his weapon of choice, simply because Harry is someone Dale loves and was a convenient unsuspecting target. The shock and terror on his best friend’s face will likely become a common fixture in his nightmares for weeks to come.

He slips fingers beneath his undershirt and the patient gown to feel. Three scars on his abdomen - two from wounds in the line of duty, and a third one, new, surgical. His spleen had been ruptured and they’d sewn it back up again. Dale feels like he deserved to take that injury. He hurt and betrayed his friend whether he meant to or not.

Footsteps interrupt his dismal thoughts and Dale cautiously slides the blanket down enough to look - Doc Hayward. Somehow, this feels relatively safe to him.

“It’s good to see you awake… how are you feeling, Cooper?”

Dale, out of politeness and respect, tries to make himself as presentable as possible given the circumstances. He forces himself into a sitting position and discards the blanket to the end of the mattress by his feet. His voice still deserts him, however, so he shakes his head in order to indicate his current terrible state.

“I see. Do you know where you are?”

It occurs to Dale that no, he doesn’t. He’s aware that he’s in Calhoun Memorial Hospital, but his exact location hasn’t been revealed to him and he shakes his head a second time.

“You’re on the psychiatric unit. It seemed like the safest place to put you, and the most private, so I had you admitted here instead of intensive care. Some of your friends wanted to come visit you, but we can’t allow that for the first forty eight hours after admission. Once that’s over, though, do you want us to let them see you?”

Dale’s first thought is Harry and he nods. Then it comes to him - will Harry want to visit? Harry is so scared of him, now, for several very good reasons. Dale chokes. He stops making eye contact and swallows several times, trying to make his throat work again, because he needs to know. In the end he’s forced to whisper.

“Will Harry come see me, here?”

Doc Hayward’s expression can only be described as pitying. “He’s still a little shaken up after everything, so it might be a few days, but I’ll tell him you asked for him if you want.”

Dale’s words leave again. He nods in their place. Not right now, but later, he’d like to see Harry. He needs to be sure that Harry’s alright.

* * *

Dale’s knees are perpetually soft as he walks to the end of the hall, towards the window. He almost falls repeatedly, but manages not to. His limbs are still clumsy and his balance is slightly off, as if there’s a disconnect between his central and peripheral nervous systems causing him to periodically lose track of his gross motor functions. It would be embarrassing for Dale if anyone was to learn that reaching the window at the end of the hallway is a minor triumph for him.

It looks down over the hospital parking lot. Dale gazes at the cars, knowing that what he’s searching for won’t be present. Today is the first day he can have visitors, and he already understands that Harry won’t be one of them. It’s very unlikely that Harry will appear to see him for at least a week and a half, because Dale scares Harry now.

However, there is a police cruiser that pulls in, and even at this distance Dale can see that it’s Andy and Lucy, carrying something in a box. He predicts some type of food item and is very close to smiling for a moment. Instead he returns to his room to wait for them and is glad he decided to shave this morning, under supervision of the orderlies. _Bob_ never shaved while he was in control. Dale suspects for this reason he’d look frightening for them if he’d retained the scruffy, messy appearance.

Even from his room, Dale can hear the nurses’ station, and he detects a notable increase in his heart rate at the sound of Lucy’s voice announcing that she and Andy are here to see him. Dale realizes that he’s anxious. Will Lucy and Andy be afraid of him, too? Knowing how much he scares everyone has done his mental health, already in a very poor state, no favors.

Lucy comes in first, very boldly in his opinion before it occurs to him that she never saw him while he was possessed by _Bob_ and possibly doesn’t understand that she should be frightened in his presence the way most people are. Andy is slightly more cautious, but seems to be trying very hard not to be because he has a kind heart. Dale appreciates that and wishes he could say so.

“Good afternoon, Agent Cooper. We brought you some pie from the Double R because you like it so much and also Pete Martell said something awhile back about how bad the food is here, so Andy and I thought it might help you feel better,” Lucy informs him, handing him the box and sitting in the chair against the wall. “Hawk was going to come with us to see you, but when I called the hospital to ask about it this morning they said you can only have two visitors at a time, so he told me to tell you that he said he’ll come tomorrow instead and he’ll see if he can bring you some coffee since you like that, too.”

Dale nods, grateful. He wishes he could speak again, but it’s impossible, almost as if he’s completely forgotten how. Instead he busies himself opening the box and starting in on the first slice of cherry pie, still warm from the diner. He makes a small, involuntary noise of momentary bliss on the first bite, and that seems to satisfy Lucy.

“Agent Cooper you seem awful pale,” Andy comments, standing in the doorway like he should run at the first sign of trouble. “Are you hurt?”

Dale wants, desperately, to reassure Andy. All he can do is shake his head. He takes another bite of pie.

“Andy, sweetie, can I talk to Agent Cooper for a second in private?” Lucy asks, slightly exasperated.

Andy just looks surprised. “Okay. I’ll go ask them if Hawk can bring coffee.”

Lucy isn’t stupid, and Dale braces himself mentally.

“Doc Hayward said that maybe you wouldn’t talk to us, and at first I thought maybe he meant you were mad because you had to go back to the Black Lodge so you didn’t want to see us, but you don’t actually _seem_ mad right now. So since you won’t talk, I think we should at least know why, so I can tell Hawk and he won’t be surprised tomorrow…” She makes a face, clearly thinking. “Hold up one finger if it’s because you just don’t want to, or two fingers because you actually can’t.” Dale complies and she seems a little surprised. “Okay. Do you know why?”

Dale shakes his head. If he knew why, he’d be able to correct the problem.

“Okay, so I’ll tell Hawk that, and then he’ll only ask you yes or no questions so that you don’t get frustrated.” She pauses. “Agent Cooper, I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you seem very sad here. But it’s not like a normal sad, because people are always sad when they get sick and have to go to the hospital, it’s more of a special kind of sad. Are you still worried about _Bob_ coming back?”

Dale shakes his head and finishes his slice of pie. He sets the rest of it on the side table to save for later.

“Are you worried about Sheriff Truman?”

He debates briefly if he should be honest and decides the answer is yes, so he nods slightly. He’s very worried about Harry, and if Lucy’s frown is anything to go by he should be.

“Andy saw him drinking whiskey in his office this afternoon before we came to see you, and it wasn’t as bad as when Josie Packard died but he didn’t used to drink in his office and he seemed sick when he came in to work this morning so I think he was probably drinking a lot last night too so he was hungover. He looks sad the same way that you look sad, and I think he’s worried about you but he still feels really bad about putting you back in the Black Lodge so there’s a lot of misplaced guilt that he needs to get over first before he comes to see you.”

It’s unfortunate how much sense that makes. Dale nods and inside part of him wants, very irrationally, to scream. Harry has exactly zero reasons to feel guilty, and when Dale can speak again it’s imperative to tell him so.

* * *

The stalemate lasts thirteen days.

For twelve of those days, including the first one when he woke up, Dale asks Doc Hayward when Harry will come see him. It’s the only thing he knows how to say anymore, like a scratched record. Hawk visits him exactly once, to bring him coffee for a few minutes. His normal stoicism wavers, though. Even Hawk is scared of Dale, and for Dale this realization is yet another in a series of blows to his fragile emotional state. He deteriorates after that, lying in bed and hiding from Dr. Jacoby. He gives up trying to remember how to talk and stops shaving as well, because it seems pointless. He’ll be contained here for an indeterminate amount of time and everyone will stay frightened of his presence, except for Lucy, who brings him pie every other day. Thank god for Lucy. Nobody else wants to see him. She’s such a good friend.

On the morning of the thirteenth day, Dale sits on the side of his bed, staring at the wall and quietly reconciling to the fact that he seems to have lost several pounds since his encounter with _Bob_ because _Bob_ never ate while imprisoned and the food here at the hospital is inexcusably terrible. He’s thin with a bristly face and possibly the echoes of yesterday’s nightmares in his eyes, and he understands why everyone finds him to horrifying these days.

Doc Hayward comes in and sits.

“Cooper.”

Dale nods in greeting like he does every morning. Today, he doesn’t make eye contact.

“I have some good news… I talked to Harry last night, he’s going to come see you today if you still want him to.”

This is very surprising to hear, so now Dale looks. Doc Hayward is a little less scared of him than everyone else is, and at the moment is also smiling.

It occurs to Dale that he doesn’t remember how to smile the same as how he doesn’t remember how to talk anymore. That frightens him, and for a moment he considers - is he really alright letting Harry observe him in his current state? He knows how badly he’s been doing, sinking into a state of perpetual despair; should he impose that on his best friend, especially knowing that Harry isn’t faring much better? Lucy’s said more than once that Harry’s been drinking a lot, sitting in his office alone and not really talking to people. In essence, almost a mirror of Dale’s current existence, though in Harry’s case it’s much more by choice than by design.

“Do you still want to see him?” Doc Hayward asks, very quietly and apparently reading the doubt in his face.

Dale concludes his musing, and nods again. He needs to see Harry.

Shortly following, Dale elects to finally shave for the first time in over a week. The sensation of removing the bristles from his skin is liberating, and afterwards he also combs his hair. He makes his best effort to look as normal as he can considering the hospital pajamas loosely hanging from his frame. Once this task is completed, Dale sits on the side of his bed to wait for a few minutes. Eventually his anxiety makes him impatient and he leaves his room to watch the parking lot from the window.

Dale has no means to measure the passing time (his watch is locked up with his other belongings until he can leave the hospital) and as such he’s not entirely certain how long he stands at the glass. To amuse himself he counts all the red cars in the parking lot below, then all the blue ones, then the black, then the gray. Halfway through counting the white ones, he finally spots Harry’s truck pulling in and his heart rate increases behind his sternum. The truck stops in a parking space and for much too long, Harry doesn’t get out of it. Dale doesn’t remember the decision to hold his breath, but realizes that he’s doing so and promptly breathes out. Finally, Harry emerges, holding several objects and standing still for - again - entirely too long before approaching the building. Even from this distance, Dale reads hesitation, fear, and large amounts of guilt into his movements.

When Harry is no longer visible, Dale retreats back to his room and once again sits on the edge of the bed. He breathes deeply and slowly in order to calm himself and it’s marginally effective. Eventually he hears the sound of the doors being unlocked at the end of the hallway despite his own door being closed, and then that rough but gentle voice speaking quietly to the nurses. Boots on the linoleum. Harry knocks first before appearing.

“Hey, Coop.” He doesn’t maintain eye contact and his body language reads of overt discomfort. “I. Brought you some food. And coffee. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

Dale, almost miraculously, suddenly finds his voice again. Perhaps his voice was waiting for his best friend.

“It’s alright, Harry. I understand why you don’t want to see me.”

The words hurt so much that he almost whispers them. Harry is afraid of him, just like everyone is afraid of him. He notes the distinct (if faint) odor of liquor and that Harry’s face is a little redder than usual. Lucy wasn’t exaggerating in her reports of Harry’s constant drinking.

“I don’t - not want to see you, Coop. I thought you wouldn’t want to see _me._ I hurt you, and then I put you back in that place, and… I let _Bob_ trick me. I’m gullible. I’m a gullible fool and it seems like people trick me a lot these days.”

This confession is something of a surprise for Dale. He wasn’t expecting Harry to have guilt over his injury.

“ _Bob_ is a phenomenal actor and you aren’t equipped with the same set of mental tools as I am. I don’t blame you. As far as the spleen goes, it’s largely inconsequential. Physically I’ve returned to a state of perfect health.”

This is technically a lie, but not for that reason. Dale’s weakened state is entirely his own doing from refusing to eat the despicable excuse for hospital food.

Harry takes a breath. “Doc Hayward says you won’t talk to anyone.”

“It makes me apprehensive and so I avoid it.” Another lie. “I’m plagued by a sensation of something having been stolen from me. _Bob_ took something with him on his way out. If I speak with people, they’ll know what I lost.”

The second part, at least, is somewhat true. He does experience this feeling on a regular basis, of being vulnerable or even defenseless. At the moment, though, it’s abated. He feels perfectly safe with Harry and wishes desperately that Harry didn’t have to feel so unsafe with him in turn.

“What did you lose?”

“I’m not entirely sure.” The smell of the coffee distracts him from further explaining and he reaches for it. Harry flinches away from Dale so violently that he almost drops everything he’s holding, and Dale recoils, ashamed. “Sorry.”

Harry is trembling slightly but doesn’t seem to realize it. It’s almost physically painful for Dale to look at.

“Don’t be. What were you…?”

“I was under the assumption you brought that coffee for me.”

Harry looks startled for a second as if he forgot he was carrying anything in his hands. “Oh, yeah, yeah I did. Here.” The coffee is passed to Dale. “There’s a couple pieces of pie and some donuts, too.”

Dale takes a long, slow sip of the coffee. Almost immediately he feels like life is coming back into him and he briefly hums with content. “Harry Truman, you are a saint.”

At least this gets Harry to chuckle a little, which is relieving to hear. “Not really. I just figured you could use a pick-me-up.”

He savors the next sip for a moment before swallowing. “This by itself works wonders for my mental state.”

“I thought it would.” Harry sighs softly and sets the rest of the food aside so that he can pick a hangnail on his right index finger. “Coop… I’m real sorry for everything. I almost killed you by hitting you there.”

Dale puts his coffee on the side table as well for the time being. “Harry, don’t. I stabbed you and throttled you and gave you a concussion. You have absolutely nothing to apologize for.”

Harry looks almost baffled by this. “You didn’t do any of that, though. _Bob_ tried to kill me.”

“Using me as a vehicle to do so,” Dale points out. “I have a persistent sense that this is how people under the influence of drugs must feel, to watch yourself acting in a way you would normally never act and being unable to stop it from happening. I wanted to stop _Bob_.” He takes a breath. “I thought I was stronger than that.” The admission is painful to make, but it needs to be said. He has to help Harry understand.

“You know, thinking like that Leland should’ve kept _Bob_ from killing his daughter.” Harry meets his eyes and Dale notes a discouraging mix of fear, guilt, and desperation. “Coop, you didn’t do any of that to me.”

As much as Dale wants this to be the case, it’s obvious that Harry is also struggling to convince himself of those words. As a consequence, Dale is simply unable to believe him, and chalks it up to wishful thinking.

“But you fear me now, Harry,” Dale murmurs. “You certainly don’t mean to, and I know you wish you didn’t, but the fact remains that my presence is making you extremely uncomfortable. And for very good reason. I would feel a similar discomfort if Windom Earle was still alive and I was inhabiting the same space as him.”

“You’re not Windom Earle. And I’m not scared of you, Coop.” An obvious lie, but Dale elects not to call him out on it at this time. “I’m scared of _Bob._ He could hurt you, too, if he’s not really gone.”

“He’s gone, Harry. I promise he’s gone.” Dale works exceedingly hard to find a reassuring smile, but one won’t come to him so instead he changes the subject. “There were mentions of pie?”

“Yeah, here.” Harry picks up the box again and gives it to Dale. “Oh, Norma says thanks for rescuing her sister.”

“She never has to thank me for that.” Dale can’t bear it a second longer. He has to say something. “Harry, I wish you would stop feeling so ashamed. You’ve suffered multiple vicious attacks on your person that resulted in bodily harm.”

Harry shakes his head. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Harry-”

“Dale, god dammit, it wasn’t your fault,” Harry practically shouts.

Both of them abruptly break eye contact and are silent for several long and uncomfortable moments. Dale thinks and attempts to approach a less explosive topic, though what he comes up with could still be difficult.

“Harry, I’d like to ask…” He stops, uncertain. Maybe it would be better for him not to after all.

“Sure, what is it?”

Dale swallows. “In the cell. Why did you hold my hand?”

“Oh.” Harry mimics his swallow, probably without realizing it. “I figured… I told you that you might be killed trying to free you from _Bob,_ I figured it would bother you but you can’t hug someone through bars.”

Dale is touched beyond his ability to express himself. “Yes, I see.”

Harry clears his throat. “Are you… okay here? The nurses are scared of you.”

“They don’t mistreat me if that’s what you’re concerned about. I understand why this is necessary and I don’t resent my placement on this ward. Generally speaking my chief complaint, aside from the food, is loneliness and guilt.”

“You’re not guilty of anything,” Harry insists.

“We were fully prepared to prosecute Leland for _Bob_ ’s actions,” Dale reminds him. “By that logic, I’m guilty on two counts of the attempted murder of a law enforcement officer. Not to mention that said law enforcement officer is an incredible friend who is very near and dear to me. I’ll continue to feel guilty for that, Harry, regardless of your permission.”

“Coop…” Harry’s beginning to look exasperated.

“Yes, Harry?”

“There’s no reason for me to say this because you’re not at fault, but I forgive you anyway. You’re forgiven. The end.”

If only it were so simple. “I’ll accept your forgiveness on the condition that you in turn drop the issue of my ruptured spleen. Now before you make the argument that you weren’t possessed by _Bob_ and were in complete control of your faculties, I’d like to point out that you were in the process of potentially being murdered. In that scenario it was purely an act of self-defense.”

“Okay,” Harry says, in a tone indicating that he’s not actually agreeing but is simply tired of discussing this topic and wants it to stop for the time being. He rubs his forehead. “Uh. Wasn’t there something else?”

“Yes. It’s lonely here. Andy and Lucy come to see me on a regular basis and I feel terrible for not being able to speak to them. I sit and nod while they talk in my general direction but experience the sensation of my jaws having been clamped together without my consent.”

“So how do you talk to me, then?”

Dale’s not sure how, but he manages to come up with the answer. “I suppose it’s because I’ve seen you in one of your most vulnerable moments. Therefore it makes no difference that you’re seeing me in mine.”

“What, we get to be pathetic together or something like that?” Harry snorts.

“Yes, Harry. Something like that,” Dale agrees, choosing to ignore the light sarcasm.

Another layer of discomfort further poisons Harry’s demeanor. “If you’re that lonely, you want me to keep visiting?”

The conflicting emotions are like a flashing neon sign - Harry is so very afraid of Dale, of what Dale’s done and what Dale currently represents in regards to his own obvious mental trauma. But on the other hand, he still cares about Dale and wants Dale to be okay.

Dale can’t be responsible for further problems in the life of his best friend. “If it causes you so much distress, I can’t ask that of you.”

“That’s not what I asked, Coop.” Harry stubbornly presses on. “Do you want me to keep visiting you here?”

“You don’t have to,” Dale reminds him helpfully.

Now, Harry growls. “That’s still not what I asked. It’s a yes or no question.”

“If it won’t cause you further emotional damage, then yes, I would like that very much.”

“I don’t think you have to worry too much about emotional damage with me anymore. Everything’s already broken by now.”

Frankly, Dale hates that, and he hopes Harry’s exaggerating. “That, my friend, is a terrible shame. Emotions are often portrayed as demons to be feared in our society, but I’ve long suspected that living a fuller and more satisfying life is contingent on embracing them instead.”

“More wisdom from Tibet?” Harry guesses.

“Not specifically, no. This is a conclusion I drew independently prior to my interest in Tibet and if I know myself well then I can confidently say that I’m an emotional creature by nature.”

“Mostly positive emotions, though.”

“No. Not lately.” Dale laces his fingers together and studies them for a long moment. He has more difficult confessions for Harry. “There is a great well of fear present in me… I wasn’t aware of its existence until my initial entry into the Black Lodge. I can’t say for sure how it originated, but it gave _Bob_ exactly the window he required to commandeer me for his own ends.”

Harry seems like he’s about to reply, but Dr. Jacoby comes into the room without warning and interrupts them. Dale’s irrational survival instinct goes berserk and he curls in on himself the way a porcupine does to protect its soft underbelly.

“I heard him talking and took it as a good sign, apparently it wasn’t.”

Harry comes immediately to Dale’s defense. “Maybe he just needs some space.” It’s said in a tone that indicates Harry’s not suggesting or being polite, but rather giving the psychiatrist an order.

“If he doesn’t talk to me he won’t get the help he needs.”

A laughable concept at best. From a psychological standpoint, Dale has gained nothing from his stay here aside from a rudimentary feeling of physical safety from knowing that _Bob_ can’t possibly reach him here. Harry seems to realize this, too.

“I’ll talk to him for you, Lawrence. I think you should go see your other patients in the meantime.”

A beat of silence, unspoken conflict. Dr. Jacoby, strictly, is only attempting to fulfill his job requirements. Harry can clearly tell that it’s absolute nonsense as far as Dale is concerned, and is working to protect him from that nonsense. Not that he didn’t already, but in this moment Dale loves Harry for it.

“Okay, then I’ll leave you fellas to it.”

The door closes and Dale wants to relax, but it’s not yet possible. Then the weight of the bed unexpectedly shifts as Harry sits as well and slowly reaches over to press Dale into his side. Harry is safe. Harry can help Dale remember what safety is again. Dale appreciates that more than any words could ever express, but maybe someday he’ll find a way to explain it in actions instead of words.

* * *

The next afternoon, shortly before the dinner trays are brought up for the patients, Harry returns. Dale wasn’t expecting this - Andy and Lucy only came to see him every other day, and he’d somehow assumed it would be the same for Harry as well. But here he is, still wearing his work uniform as he signs in at the nurses’ station. Like yesterday, he has coffee and a box of food.

“Hiya, Coop.” The coffee is offered and the box is set aside. Harry, unlike yesterday, sits in the chair instead of standing. “I’d ask how you’re holding up, but it’s probably about the same, right?”

“Essentially,” Dale agrees between sips. “I didn’t think you’d be back so soon. I appreciate it.”

“Yeah…” Harry pulls off his hat, pushes his hand over his curly hair, puts the hat back on. “I don’t really have anything better to do, and I figured it’d make you happy.”

He still smells like Jack Daniels, slightly stronger than yesterday, and given that he sat this time Dale’s immediately concerned that Harry drove up to see him while intoxicated.

“Harry, are you alright?” He receives an insincere nod. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Here. I brought you some dinner. You’re too skinny, Coop.”

Dale immediately understands that this is a deflection. Harry can’t be called drunk, because Dale’s seen Harry drunk and this certainly doesn’t meet those criteria. But he’s at least mildly intoxicated, possibly enough that he shouldn’t have been operating a vehicle. Dale also immediately understands that he’s very likely the reason, or one of the reasons, that Harry drinks at work now. But this isn’t the time or place for that discussion. Dale’s just grateful Harry’s here at all.

“So I asked Doc Hayward about how long you’ll be here. He said since it was an involuntary admission onto the ward you have to show ‘significant improvements’ first. Whatever that really is.”

“It’s very likely that means they’re waiting for me to be able to hold a conversation with someone besides you,” Dale speculates.

“Yeah, that makes sense. So… how long until you can do that?”

“I don’t know, Harry. Some amount of time is still required until I can find my way past that particular mental block.”

Harry fidgets. “I was thinking about everything you said yesterday, you know. And I’m pretty sure you were lying. You don’t talk because you can’t, it’s not really a choice, is it? I know you, Coop. You talk a lot, it’s part of who you are, and you’d talk to Doc Hayward if you could.”

Dale nods guiltily. He only lied in order to spare his best friend any additional mental strain, but apparently Harry understands him too well for it to work. “I’m sorry, Harry. I didn’t want to trouble you with that information.”

“Coop, if it helps you get through this, then by all means trouble me with anything you want,” Harry insists. He rubs his face and seems tired as he does it. “Nobody anywhere can blame you for having problems after… all of that that happened. So whatever you think you need to bounce back, tell me and then I’ll tell Doc Hayward for you.”

“Harry, you don’t…” Dark brown eyes fix on him sternly and he doesn’t finish that sentence. “I was contacted by Gordon through a letter this morning. I’ll be subject to a reevaluation before I can return to work, but eventually once I’m discharged I’ll need some time to recuperate and I’d like to spend it here. Hopefully in a different room at the hotel.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. But why here?”

“Because I like it here, Harry. _Bob_ didn’t steal that from me despite his best efforts. There are friends for me here, and excellent food. Not to mention your incredible trees, which I’ll never see anywhere else.”

“There are trees in other places besides Washington, Coop,” Harry half-laughs.

“Yes, but none of those places have these trees in particular.” He notes Harry’s exhaustion and general air of malaise. “You haven’t been sleeping well.”

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

“You see me in your nightmares.”

“Coop-”

“Harry, you’re terrified of me. It’s perfectly understandable. Why are you here?”

“Because you’re my friend. I can’t just leave you alone in this place,” Harry admits. “Dale… don’t say anything about ‘emotional damage’ or any of that crap. You shouldn’t just be by yourself here, so I came today just like I came yesterday. I’ll be here tomorrow, too, and I’ll keep coming back until they finally let you out. This isn’t up for discussion or debate, and me sleeping badly has nothing to do with it.”

The amount of bravery Harry is displaying here is incredible and almost heroic. Dale understands why it took Harry two weeks to realize this stubborn resolve, but now that he’s found it it’s unlikely to go away regardless of the trauma he’s been through at Dale’s hands. Dale wishes he could be as brave as Harry; perhaps if he was, he could remember how to speak to people again.

* * *

The quiet at night is a very distinct and specific type of quiet.

Dale generally has the door of his room closed during the day in order to ward off the uneasy looks from staff or other patients, and also for privacy when Harry visits him. But at night he leaves it open so that he can take in this quiet. It isn’t silence, which he’s grateful for. Rather there are tiny noises of papers shuffling and the unintelligible murmurs of the night shift at the nurses’ station, soft sleep-sounds from the other seven beds. It’s grounding, it’s safe, and he’s learned to appreciate it over the last seventeen days. There’s never complete silence. If there was, he wouldn’t be able to bear it and he knows it. There had been moments of complete silence in the Black Lodge.

Dale lies still on his back, listening to this distinct and specific quiet. He’s made today, by his current standards, significant progress: he managed to say hello back to Doc Hayward this morning. A single word. It was incredibly taxing for two syllables to leave his throat, but he somehow managed that. Harry was glad to hear it when Dale told him about it at dinner. Which is the other interesting thing. Harry had brought food for Dale as has become routine for them, but also carried in a meal for himself as well and they ate together. It was comforting, it put Dale at ease and made him feel cared for. Harry had been stiff, almost mechanical, but clearly made the best effort possible to seem anything other than scared out of his mind while doing it.

Dale has mixed feelings on this, even now, several hours after the fact. From a certain perspective, he enjoyed the company (he always enjoys Harry’s company) and for a second or two it was very close to being like it was before, the two of them eating together. Conversely, the immense strain it put on Harry was hideously plain to see. Dale is repeatedly responsible for possibly the biggest source of stress in his best friend’s life at the moment.

He slips into dreams with these troubling and contradictory thoughts. A gloomy subconscious wandering, which he’ll forget most of before waking in the morning. He’s walking without shoes along Main Street looking for something, but he can’t remember what exactly the object of his search is. He doesn’t find it. Instead he finds Harry, who kisses both his hands. “We’ve been looking for you.” “Why?” “Because we know how much you love trees, and there’s one in my office that you should come talk to.” And so Dale starts following him, until he stops being there. And then Dale is looking for Harry, but Harry’s not anywhere, and when Dale tries to ask for help nobody can see him. He finds Harry on the roof of a house, but Harry doesn’t understand that he’s there and keeps shouting for him, trying to find him even though he’s not the one who got lost…

Dale’s eyes open to the hospital ceiling on the morning of the eighteenth day. He recalls how they had dinner together last night, here in his room, and wishes very selfishly that Harry could visit for the other two meals as well.

* * *

“Harry, are you alright?” Dale asks, already anticipating the lie.

“Yeah.” And there it is. Harry’s right on the edge of drunk, his truck is crooked in its parking space and he didn’t really sit so much as fall into the chair against the wall just now. “Why do you always ask me that? Eat your dinner.”

“Aren’t you also going to eat?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Let’s eat.”

Harry’s face is red. The whiskey on his breath is too strong to hide. Dale’s concerned for his health and also curious how he convinced the staff to let him visit the psychiatric unit in his current state.

“Harry, are you sure you’re alright?”

“Eat, Coop. I got you two pieces of pie.”

“Thank you, Harry. Please answer my question.”

“I already said I was.”

“Let me rephrase. Please answer my question honestly.”

Harry shakes his head. “I didn’t have… the best day today. But that’s all.”

“Harry-”

“Eat your food.”

Dale would love to interrogate Harry about his drinking habits. He also realizes that if he did, Harry would likely abstain from seeing him again in the hospital, and Harry’s dinner visits are one of very few positive things Dale can still claim in his life. There will be time later to deconstruct and fix Harry’s binge drinking; at the moment, Dale will continue to feel grateful that Harry comes to see him in the first place.

“What’re you thinking about over there, Coop?”

“Something inconsequential.” Now it’s Dale’s turn to lie. They lie to each other a lot on the psychiatric unit, in a way they never did before the Black Lodge. Harry won’t admit to Dale how bad his drinking is. Dale won’t admit to Harry how deeply he’s been affected by _Bob._ Both of them know the other one is lying. Neither calls the other out on it. “I appreciate the extra pie, Harry.”

“You’re welcome.”

“We’re going to have a very long discussion as soon as I’m no longer considered mentally unsound and released.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. It’s extremely important, but it can wait.”

“Okay, Coop.”

As he eats, Dale wonders why Harry’s more intoxicated than usual and what could’ve occurred today to cause this. Ordinarily, Harry will be only one shot past sober, but today he’s at least three, possibly more. It’s concerning for many reasons; Dale wants Harry’s skin to be its normal color and his breath to not smell like anything, because it would mean that Harry wasn’t in so much pain. Generally speaking that’s the long and short of the situation. Dale hates that Harry’s neck-deep in trauma, especially so soon after losing a romantic partner.

“I ever tell you that you think too much?”

“Yes, Harry, you’ve said that before.”

“You’re being a little quiet,” Harry observes, sounding worried. “Anything you wanna talk about?”

“Harry, we’ll have a long discussion about this at a later date,” Dale reiterates. “I won’t burden you with my thoughts at this time.”

“I already told you five… no, six… however many days ago to do exactly that. Burden me as much as you want.”

“Well, I don’t want to.”

“Dale…”

“Harry, I’d like to ask that you respect my decisions at this time.”

A sigh. “Okay, Coop.” Harry picks at his meal without taking another bite of it, wearing an expression that says he’s completely lost his appetite. “How long have you been in here, now?”

“Twenty two days.”

“Long hospital stay.”

“I’ve had longer. When I was stabbed, they kept me for a month and a half. I required three separate surgical procedures to fully recover. Fortunately the Bureau has excellent medical benefits in place for its employees.”

“Perks of being a government spook, huh?”

“Yes.” Dale pauses. “It’s possible I may lose such benefits soon. They’ll evaluate me to determine whether I’m still fit for my post as a special agent, and if not, whether I’ll be allowed to collect my pension. I’ve become incapacitated in an unusual manner, so it can be considered a gray area in the red tape. Fortunately Albert and Gordon have witnessed the unusual phenomena present here, even if in a limited capacity, so they’ll argue in favor of me receiving the aforementioned pension.”

“So what happens if you can’t stay on their payroll?”

“I’ll remain here and pursue other options as much as I’m able. I’ve grown a great appreciation and love for your little corner of the world, Harry. The forests are majestic and the people are charming.” And he’s in love with Harry, but that can be left out. Harry needs to come to some realizations on his own without Dale’s help before that can be addressed. “It may also be time for a change of scenery for me anyway. The idea of returning to the unrestrained chaos of life as an agent of the FBI is somewhat nerve-wracking for me at the moment.”

An understatement, but not a lie. Dale is terrified of the concept of returning to his profession.

“But if you don’t work for them, how will you keep paying for a hotel room?”

“Officially, I’m on medical leave, and I’ll continue to be on medical leave until my evaluation. Gordon has insisted that my expenses will be covered until that point.”

“I see.” Harry fidgets. “That doesn’t sound like a very good idea.”

“Why not?”

“You’ll be in the same place wh… Coop… all the rooms look the same.” Harry’s having a fit. Dale’s not sure how he’s holding it in, but the signs are still there. “Won’t it just remind you…?”

“Harry, please take six breaths in precisely the manner I’m about to describe. Breathe in deeply over four seconds, hold your breath for five, and then breathe out for another four.”

“Coop-”

“Harry, breathe.” Harry doesn’t do it exactly the way Dale instructs, but that’s alright because he still makes a decent attempt to follow the directions. “It’s perfectly understandable that you find the hotel so frightening. I’d like you to avoid thinking about it for the time being.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“Harry, I wish you could be alright.”

“I’m alright.” The lie again. Somehow neither of them is as bad off as they really are when the other is looking. “I’m alright, Coop, I promise.”

 _But you’re not,_ Dale thinks. Neither of them are.

* * *

“So, how are your dreams these days, Agent Cooper?” Dr. Jacoby prods, leaning back in his chair in an almost arrogant way.

“Before I answer, I’m curious as to how far your morals around doctor-patient confidentiality extend,” Dale tells him stiffly.

“Ah, this must’ve been a big bad one if you’re worried about that.”

“You refused to cooperate with us during our investigation. Would it also be safe to say information that could see me fired without pension from the Bureau will be kept in confidence?”

“I saw a kid once who told me about cutting open squirrels and nailing them to trees. Nobody’s ever heard about it.”

That’s reasonably comforting, and Dale desperately needs to talk. “I’m in a difficult situation.”

“Of course you are, that’s why you’re here instead of chasing bad guys,” Dr. Jacoby grins. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with Sheriff Truman, would it?”

Dale raises an eyebrow. “It’s interesting that you’re already jumping to such bold conclusions.”

“You’re not the only one who can read body language. So, you dream about Harry sometimes. Anything bad enough that you can’t say out loud?”

“No. It’s more a matter of emotional difficulty. Due to the current situation, Harry is afraid of me.”

“Yeah, you’ve established that pretty clearly by now.”

“Yes… due to this fear, he doesn’t understand the nature of his own emotions. I wouldn’t feel comfortable discussing this with him. This is neither the time nor the place.”

“Harry can be dense sometimes. Don’t take it personally.” Dr. Jacoby shifts in his chair and cleans his glasses briefly. “Agent Cooper, tell me about your dreams.”

“I had been shot. I dream about being shot fairly often recently. But in this particular iteration it wasn’t concerning. Harry let me borrow one of his shirts because mine had blood on it and instantly the wound was forgotten to my subconscious wanderings. He told me he was searching for me but I would always disappear each time he got close, and my response was to ask why he kept looking.”

“And what did he say?”

“Nothing. He kissed me.”

“And you woke up.”

“No, not right away. I explained that I love him, and that he’s confused. He said I should say it again and then I woke up for breakfast.”

“So now, you’re frustrated and upset that you can’t say it in the real world.”

Dale considers this for a brief moment. “In a sense, I suppose ‘frustrated’ is a term that could be applied to the situation, yes. I won’t have an opportunity to give this explanation to him for an indeterminate amount of time. _Bob_ has presented yet another significant setback in my life despite my best efforts.”

“It’s part of the human condition to look for love and attention, Agent Cooper. Harry doesn’t get either of those things anymore as far as anyone’s seen, except when it comes from you. It’s a pretty good bet he’ll get over being scared of you eventually and figure himself out.”

“I’ve done immense harm to his psyche.”

“Okay, so now I have to ask how many times we need to tell you that wasn’t your fault before you start to believe us.”

“It’s unlikely I’ll be able to fully accept that as fact,” Dale admits. “I’m responsible in some capacity. It was my choice to enter the Black Lodge.”

“Black Lodge aside, Harry will probably get there eventually. Now, about this dream of yours…” Dr. Jacoby refers to the notes he took while Dale was describing it. “You’re a shooting victim, like in the hotel.”

“Yes.”

“And Harry’s there?”

“Not at first. He appears shortly after I’m shot, and when I stand up from the floor he lends me a shirt.”

“He’s there for you in times of stress and takes care of you. So then he asks why you disappear?”

“No, he says he looks for me but I disappear each time he gets close to finding me.”

“He worries about you endlessly, like a hamster running in its wheel. Your subconscious knows what it’s talking about, Agent Cooper.”

“Yes, that’s almost always the case in my experience.”

“Okay. So then… you asked him about it, but he didn’t answer. He holds things back from you, probably because he’s scared. Him kissing you instead is probably just some wishful thinking bleeding through, you wish he was confident enough and aware enough to do that. Finally you explain yourself to him and he wants you to say the whole thing over again. That’s your brain telling you to say it in real life.”

None of this is information Dale couldn’t have figured out for himself. “Why is it necessary for you to deconstruct the process of my dreams?”

“Because you won’t tell me anything else. Besides, I asked Harry the other day how I could get you to talk, and he said you have weird dreams so maybe I should ask about those. Looks like he was right.”

* * *

Dale watches Harry sign in at the nurses’ station and even at a distance ascertains that something’s off about his best friend. He sits on his bed as is typical so that Harry can have the chair against the wall and waits patiently for the remaining fifteen seconds. He wonders what happened today, and the answer is immediately apparent: Harry is sober. He isn’t one shot past sober the way he usually is, or three shots past sober the way he occasionally gets. He hasn’t been drinking today. And it looks terrible on him. He shakes slightly, he’s sweating, his skin is no longer red but instead almost pasty. His anxious mood is brightly apparent in his eyes no matter how he tries to stifle it.

“Harry, you look awful,” Dale can’t help saying. As if it’s not already obvious that this is the case.

Harry nods. “Yeah. Coop, we gotta talk.”

“Alright.” Dale’s not confident in Harry’s ability to have a serious discussion at the moment, but they should certainly try in any case.

“Doc Hayward said you’re getting discharged today.”

Dale nods slowly. He’s not sure where this is going. “Yes, I’ve been deemed stable. Or at least stable enough to exist outside of a controlled environment. Frankly, I’m relieved. It’s been thirty two days and I miss the smell of the trees and the rain.”

“Yeah. Coop, uh… did he talk to you about what’s going to happen now?”

“Not since yesterday morning, why?”

Harry swallows, very obviously, and looks sideways to the wall. “He said… it’s not a good idea for. If you went back to the hotel. So he asked me to take you home with me instead. So if you want, that’s what we’re gonna do. Then you won’t have to be by yourself and Doc Hayward won’t be worrying about you so much.”

“Harry, to be perfectly honest I think that’s a terrible idea. The notion of the hotel doesn’t bother me and I’ll be a disruption to your life.”

Harry snorts. “No you won’t. The last couple weeks after I got done seeing you here I went home and sat by myself until I went to bed. There’s nothing to disrupt, Coop, trust me.”

“Harry-”

“Please, Dale.” The tremors intensify. Harry is panicking and trying to hold it in. He opens his mouth and closes it several times before speaking again. “I’m worried what’ll happen to you if you go back there.”

Dale studies him briefly and finds himself nodding slowly. Faced with such vulnerability and honest concern, he has no choice but to agree. “Alright, Harry. I’ll try to be as unintrusive as possible.”

“Okay. Uh. Most of your stuff was in lockup at the station already, so I loaded it up into my truck before I came here.”

“Thank you.”

“I think your car’s still at the hotel. We can go get it tomorrow.”

“Harry are you sure you’re alright with this?”

“Coop, you can’t be by yourself right now,” Harry points out, very quietly. “And I shouldn’t keep being by myself either, it’s been causing some problems. Let me help.”

“But you’re afraid of me.”

“We’re not talking about that right now.”

“Are you prepared to deal with my residual problems?”

“You know I could ask you that exact same thing?”

“Yes, you could,” Dale cedes. “But you already have trouble sleeping, and my presence will very likely make it even more difficult.”

Harry snorts. “Coop, I guarantee there’s nothing you can do or say to make me sleep worse than I already do.” Slowly, fearful and cautious, Harry reaches out and puts his palm on Dale’s shoulder. “Let’s go do your discharge paperwork.”

Dale stands and the hand stays where it is. Even without his liquid crutch, Harry’s bravery seems unmatched. Dale wishes he could be that strong.

**Author's Note:**

> All my Twin Peaks fics can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=127943&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=Aaron_The_8th_Demon).
> 
> Comments would be great if you have them to give.


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